


Three Stages of Truth

by JaneScarlett



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneScarlett/pseuds/JaneScarlett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River had to deal with the grief of the Ponds’ farewell, too.  But sometimes -especially when you have a vortex manipulator- farewell doesn’t have to  mean goodbye, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. deny everything

**Author's Note:**

> Written 10/2012; finally moving it over to Archive. Thanks and love to Sarah Blackwood for the beta (and for convincing me to really use the chapter titles I joked about).

_“All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.”_  
-Arthur Schopenhauer

* * *

_It doesn’t matter_ , she tells him, for once not lying or stretching or embellishing reality as she usually would. The loss of her parents doesn’t matter; not for her, and not now. 

Because the truth is this: _she knew_. She’s always known. Maybe not specifics or precise events, the exactitude of how things would play out. But she‘s known, for years already, how this particular adventure would end.

Her mother had always been remarkably bad at keeping secrets. 

In some ways, some very important ways, Amelia Pond was nothing like her daughter. She’d never been raised with the idea that sometimes words or concepts are precious secrets, to be saved and delivered at just the right times… and River had always loved her despite that, and because of it. Marvelled, even, at how her mother would just let things come flying out, heedless of timing or tact. Mels would never have done that. Mels had been too bound up with the truths and mysteries buried in her heart and mind to ever speak without thinking or planning five steps ahead… and River, herself, was the same way. 

But Amelia Pond was something else entirely; and River would never have changed her for the world.

And so, even in the years that had followed, the times that River -full of the foreknowledge of what would come- saw her parents so young and happy, she’d never quite blamed Amy for the truths that had spilled out when she’d innocently arrived on her parents’ doorstep. Because she knew what would come, eventually. That the loss of the Ponds wasn’t really loss at all.

* * *

In the privacy of her mind, she still capitalised that day. The Morning That Everything Changed. And heavens, but she’d been so young back then. With the assumption of her degree, she thought that she’d finally put Melody Pond to rest. She’d become River Song, doctor of human and alien archaeology, graduating from the prestigious Luna University with the highest honours imaginable. River Song; her own person for the first time in her life, and capable of doing… well, anything.

And then -in what felt like the blink of an eye and a surprisingly passionate kiss on top a pyramid- she’d become something else. River Song, the newest inmate of a maximum security, intergalactic prison for a crime she hadn’t committed. 

(Not to mention: River Song, married to a thousand year old alien who’d faked his own death, but still visited her in the evenings.)

_Well_ , she rationalised as she paced back and forth in her cell, _it wasn’t like she’d ever been normal_. But this turn of events was trying even her own sensibilities.

“I want,” she mumbled aloud, feet beating a relentless tattoo across the floor, “I want…”

But even that thought escaped her, because she didn’t know _what_ to want. Life outside a cell? She had that every night. To go back in time, to be Mels Zucker again? No… because Mels had come with her own set of problems; and despite everything, she was much more content with River’s lot in life. 

But there was one thing Mels had had, that River didn’t. Friendship. Laughter. The company of her parents; even if Amy and Rory hadn’t been aware of their relationship at the time.

And so -in a fit of pique, with a hint of loneliness and longing for the familiar- she groped beneath her bed, searching for a certain armband she’d stolen out of the TARDIS wardrobe.

No; not stolen. Liberated. For all she knew, it might even be hers from the future anyway… because she couldn’t imagine what the Doctor would have been doing with a vortex manipulator when he had the TARDIS. But she’d rapidly picked up (in what had been said, and what had been hinted at) that River Song had always had her own methods of travel, quite independent of her husband. 

So. Manipulator around her wrist, she took a deep breath and waited for the guard to turn his back so she could see whether the Doctor had been right after all. He’d _claimed_ (and rather smugly too) that River Song could walk in and out of Stormcage as though the bars didn‘t even exist… and he was right. Picking locks was a trick Mels could’ve done in her sleep, and something her fingers had evidently never forgotten… and in moments she was standing outside her cell, setting the manipulator to track her parents down for a visit.

In retrospect (and with years more experience of time and space travel behind her) it had been monumentally stupid of her not to have paid attention to specifying which parents… But in fairness, back then she couldn’t even have conceived that there might be right or wrong ones. They were Amy and Rory Pond; they’d _always_ be Amy and Rory Pond… and so River closed her eyes as the vortex swirled around her, making her skin tingle and hair stand on end as she was zapped far away, thinking only of wanting to find her parents again.

She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion at an unfamiliar door when it burst open without her even raising a hand to knock.

“I knew it was you,” Amy said, pulling her inside with a huge smile on her face. “I could just feel it… I told Rory that you’d be coming by at least once this week. Motherly instinct, I call it; even if he makes fun of me when I say that. Anyway, come in, come in. Nice clothes; bit… modern, though.”

River cast an eye over her clothing choice -t-shirt, jeans, boots- and felt immediately underdressed. Amy, for the first time since she’d ever known her, wore a suit. No, not just a suit. A dusky violet coloured suit: knee-length tailored skirt and a delicately fitted, exceedingly feminine jacket, with a crisp white shirt underneath buttoned nearly up to her chin. Her hair was carefully coiffed and pinned back in place with star-shaped clips; diamond earrings swung and glittered from her ears.

“You look… nice,” River said, trying in vain to rearrange her face, to make it more obvious her jaw hadn’t nearly hit the floor in shock at seeing Amy in something so out of character. “The violet suits you.” 

“Nice?” Amy asked, doing a little twirl. “Just _nice_?”

“Beautiful, I mean.”

And she was, of course. Amy always looked beautiful. But River had never seen her looking so… she couldn’t even find the words to describe what she was seeing. It was like looking at a photograph of someone you know, but from before you knew them. This was Amy Pond, and yet not; and that thought was somehow very sad. She’d escaped from Stormcage to see her parents, to have just the tiniest hint of normal communication in an increasingly abnormal life… but whoever this Amy Pond was, she was nothing like what River remembered. It went beyond the clothes, and even her age; evident in the silver strands glittering among the bright red, the laugh lines etched around her eyes and mouth. There was just something so… different, and it was driving her mad because she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“It’s new. Just got back from the shops, and couldn‘t wait to try it on. You‘ll come with me next time; yeah? I love it when we can go shopping together.”

“Umm… yes?” It seemed like the only answer she could safely say, given that her attention was caught as she turned every which way, looking around with wide eyes and feeling the wrongness of this situation seeping into the very pores of her skin. 

“This isn’t Leadworth,“ River blurted out, focusing on the _not right_ elements she could see. The huge telly that had been Rory’s pride and joy had been exchanged for an old fashioned typewriter in the corner, and a gleaming wooden radio sat in a place of honour by silver framed, black and white photographs of the Pond and Williams’ families. There were fresh flowers in crystal vases on the tabletops, and the furniture was clean and starchy and oh-so-proper… such a far cry from the mismatched, cosy house she’d expected to find herself in.

“This isn’t, is it? It can’t be Leadworth!”

“Of course this isn’t Leadworth. It’s our flat… I mean, our _apartment_ -” Amy said, lowering her voice and speaking the last word with a deliberate and extremely overdone American accent, “in New York. Why do you look so confused? We’ve been here for years, River. You know that.”

“You know that,” Amy repeated, her eyes scanning River’s face in confusion. “Right? You know…”

“No,” River said flatly. “I don’t. I don’t even know when this is. My body clock tells me that this is the early 20th century… but that’s impossible. This whole situation is impossible and in so many ways.”

Amy’s face fell; eyes widening with horror and pale hands clasped to her mouth.

“But you’ve always known when you visit… just how young are you, now?”

River gave a little laugh, the sound brittle and false even to her own ears. “Don’t you know not to ask a lady her age?” she said, attempting to sound light and funny and failing miserably. 

“Don’t give me that, Melody Pond. You and I both know that you are no lady.”

“Like mother, like daughter?”

Amy started to laugh, putting her arms around River, hugging her close. “True,” she murmured, her words getting lost amidst her daughter’s curls. “All too true.

“I never thought I’d have to be the one with the answers; it’s always been you who knows everything. Still… I’ll make tea and we’ll have a chat. Catch up.”

“Tea?” River asked, following as they emerged into a spacious kitchen, bright and gleaming and thoroughly old fashioned. “Americans drink coffee.”

“We,” Amy said, the ease with which she fluttered around the kitchen locating kettle, tea, cups and sugar laying to rest the idea that she was merely a visitor, “are not American. Even though we do like it here. And coffee isn’t so bad -it’s hard to get proper tea all the time, so we try to save it for special occasions- but your Dad and I find it hard to break some old habits.

“We’re running a bit low on it now; in fact, when I saw you I thought you’d brought--”

Amy stopped abruptly, full tea cup in hand before she spun around, carefully setting it on the table and hugging River again. 

“Never mind,” she declared. “I’m glad to see you, whichever you it is.”

_Whichever you it is_ were very telling words, and River rolled them around in her mouth, tasting them like you might some exotic new food, grimacing as she rapidly stirred lump after lump of sugar into her tea and paying absolutely no attention whatsoever to what she was doing

“I’ve missed you,” Amy said frankly as she sat down, delicately splashing milk into her own cup and taking a sip. “It’s been too long since your last visit. You’ll have to come back again soon though, to see your Dad. He’s not here; early shift at the hospital this morning.

“How long has it been since you’ve…” The words wouldn’t come out, no matter how hard she tried to shove them through her lips.

“Seen you? Or,” Amy narrowed her eyes, searching River’s face, “since we’ve been here?”

“Both, I suppose.” 

“Two weeks, more or less, since we’ve seen you. And… nine years, maybe.”

River nodded absently, still stirring even though the sugar had long since dissolved. _Clink clink clink clink_ went the spoon against the porcelain. She stirred faster, the tiny sounds moving as quick as her brain couldn’t. _Clinkclinkclinkclink_. Amy laid a hand over hers, pale slender fingers gently lifting the spoon away.

“You look so confused, and I’m sorry.” She sounded honestly regretful, and River risked a glance over, seeing Amy’s face full of sorrow and a hint of pity. “I thought you knew… you always seemed to know when we saw you. But I guess you’re really young, now.” 

“People might actually believe I’m your daughter,” River mumbled.

“With that hair?” Amy stroked a hand down her curls, cradling River’s cheek in her palm for a moment.

“Tell them it’s a lost quirk of DNA. That’s what happens when you mix 2000 year old Roman genes with stubborn Scottish ones, and then add a dash of Time Lord. Hair that better befits a poodle.”

Amy laughed aloud before subsiding into silence once more, stroking her hand gently over River’s curls, and tucking a stray lock behind her ear.

This felt like a dream, this entire situation. Amy’s clothes. The apartment. The fact that she was remembered to have been here before, and yet was unfamiliar with every aspect of this… Even the room and the view out the kitchen window felt unreal. After the constant darkness of Stormcage, it seemed unnatural having mid-morning sun streaming through the window, illuminating everything with a golden glow. Everything seemed bright and full of life… except River herself. There was an ache in her heart that the sun wasn’t touching; shadows that it couldn’t seem to brighten. Once more her family wasn’t quite as she’d hoped they’d be; and at that thought, the loneliness rose up in her throat, almost choking her.

“When are we for you?” Amy asked, her voice whisper soft. 

“I’ve finished university,” River answered slowly. “I’m a doctor of archaeology, now.” She couldn’t help the slight thrill of pride that went through her at saying those words. There’d been a few days in there when she was sure she wasn’t going to finish… but she’d made it, after all.

“I wish we could’ve been there to see you. I hope someone took pictures?”

“There are a few floating around. I suspect that the Doctor was there even though I didn’t see him, because I’d swear I’ve even seen one framed and hanging in the TARDIS. If you like I’ll see if I can find some?”

“Please,” Amy responded immediately. “We’d like that. There are mementos and photos we don’t put out; too obvious that they don’t belong in this time. But we’d still like them, for us. They help us remember; I mean, not that we’d ever forget! But they remind of us of how things used to be.” River nodded absently; smiling without thought, and not even really listening. 

“I thought we were going to chat?” she asked abruptly. “Aren’t you going to tell me why you’re here in this time, and what is going on? Obviously in the future I know and won’t be surprised; but right now I have no idea what to think.”

“I just knew you were going to ask,” Amy said, with a tiny sigh. “I couldn’t convince you not to…?”

River raised an eyebrow. “Pond genes,” she replied, shrugging. “If you were told ‘you’ll understand soon enough, dear’ , would you have ever accepted that?”

“Rory and I fight about who you take after the most,” Amy said, a broad smile stealing over her face. “I think I win. It’s obviously me.

“River; I’m really sorry because I can’t tell you a lot. It would be spoilers… Oh, now I’m saying it too.” She groaned theatrically, and River bit her lip, trying to hide a grim smile. It was his word, the Doctor’s word, and it seemed so out of place coming from Amy.

“Well,” Amy continued, sobering with great effort, “something happened. You’ll understand eventually because you were there… will be there. Obviously it’s not happened for you yet, because you‘re still too young. You’re a professor by that time.”

“Me?” River asked, momentarily distracted. “Now that one is a spoiler. A professor? Do I get out of Stormcage eventually; or just break out to teach lectures?”

“Ohh…” Amy closed her eyes, scrunching up her face in consternation. “Forget I said that! Anyway, you’ll understand eventually. Why we’re here, why we ended up in New York. It was angels… The Weeping Angels? We’ve seen them before, at the Byzan--” Amy stopped talking abruptly, eyes wide.

“I am _so_ bad at this spoiler thing,” she muttered, seeing the confusion spread across River’s face. “Don’t tell the Doctor I made so many mistakes; he’d never let me hear the end of it.

“River, I can’t tell you the details. I shouldn’t tell you, rather. But you’ve heard of them, right? The Weeping Angels? They’re these predators, and they came after Rory.” Amy was speaking faster and faster, the words coming out in one big rush. 

“Things got bad, but we thought we’d managed to fix them so they’d be alright; but then they weren’t and we got…” She took a deep breath. “The word stuck sounds really bad, because we’re not exactly; but… well, I think that‘s the only way I can say it.”

So much information and yet not enough in Amy’s speech, and River mentally dissected it into small, digestible bits. Predators after Rory. Fixed things, but not enough. Stuck in New York in the early 20th century, but not really…

“You’re making this up,” she said, starting to laugh. Trying to laugh rather; it was stuck in her throat and came up instead as choked, mirthless gasps. “You must be! Predators after Dad, and then getting stuck in old New York? Where is he; the Doctor? Is he hiding in a closet somewhere, waiting to see if I believe this?”

Amy’s face was a frozen mask of surprise before she leaned forward, gently putting her hand on River’s arm.

“This is really tough,” she said softly. “I didn’t get how hard it was for you, back at Demon’s Run and having to tell us things we weren’t ready to understand. 

“River, he’s not here. The Doctor. He’s not able to; he can‘t come back for us in the TARDIS. Not ever.”

“He must,” River insisted. “You can’t be telling me that he actually let you do something so that he can’t fix it and get you back? Because if what you’re saying is true, then… then you have to call it what it is. Stuck. You’re stuck in the past, and you’re telling me that it can’t be fixed?”

“That’s not the right word; and I‘m sorry I can‘t explain any better,” Amy murmured, not quite meeting her eyes. “No; he can’t fix it the way you‘re thinking he should be able to, but it’s not exactly stuck…” 

Amy could try to talk around it in any way she wanted, but stuck was stuck; and suddenly River couldn’t deal with it anymore. The sheer wrongness of the situation. The apartment, and Amy’s clothes and her indescribable air of being different, and her calmness in talking about why she and Rory were trapped -exiled, even- in the past with no way to fix things.

She’d come to see her parents. To snatch a few moments of normal, surrounded with her friends and family despite the insanity of her life; and instead had arrived to find that things were wrong -again- and once more the Doctor couldn’t fix them. And with that thought, anger and sorrow and rage bubbled up inside her, scorching her throat and searing her insides like bile.

And then, she ran. Wrenched her hand from her mother and ran out the apartment, pausing once she was outside the door to hastily punch coordinates into the vortex manipulator and return to Stormcage only moments after she’d left.


	2. i want to believe

He had promised the first time he’d picked her up from Stormcage that he’d be there every night, even if he didn’t always arrive in the right order. And whether it was out of guilt or pity or love; he’d been telling the truth. It was still early days, of course; but to date, he hadn’t missed a one.

Even though; tonight, she rather wished he would have.

She lay on her bed, flat on her back with the blanket pulled around her and over her head like a shroud. Nothing to see outside, anyway. A bare cell; dark and featureless. The Doctor had brought her pictures, endless photos and books and mementos every evening; but she still hadn’t gotten around to putting things out. It felt too much like acknowledgement that she would be here forever.

She sensed it before she even heard the familiar vroosh-vroosh of his landing. A singing in her head, a greeting from the TARDIS.

 _I’m not in the mood_ , she answered grumpily, at ease in the mental communication. _I don’t feel like talking tonight._

A brief flash of hurt, then a wordless caress of love and apology as the singing faded. She heard the hum from his sonic screwdriver, the metallic crash of the cell doors opening and his steps -almost skipping- as he came over to her bed.

“Oh!” he said cheerfully as he pulled the blanket off her. “You _are_ under there! Was afraid that you’d left pillows bunched up, and I’d have to go track you down wherever you were. Or that I’d already been here, or something…

“Anyway!” He rubbed his hands together, grinning down at her. “Another night; another adventure! Where to? There’s this planet with white grass like snow and three suns; bit bright, but always worth a visit. Or there’s--”

He stopped abruptly, taking in her glare and trembling lips before sinking down on the ground next to her bed.

“Or maybe a night in?” he asked, his voice a little more quiet. “You don’t look like you want to go out.”

She turned her head away from him, not knowing quite what to say. He sighed in response, reaching over to turn her hand up and press a kiss into her palm, before closing her fingers over it.

“What happened, River?”

“What makes you think something happened?” She could keep the tears out of her eyes, but they still had to come out somewhere… and there they were, creeping out as a muffled thickness in her voice.

He gave her a tiny smile, the corners of his mouth barely lifting as he surveyed her. “Because I know something did.”

“Know everything; do you?”

“Well.” He straightened his bowtie, tugged at his lapels. “Maybe not everything… but-” he dropped his voice a little lower as he leaned in to her “-I’d never admit that to anyone but you.”

She giggled despite herself at that statement, and he grinned, standing up and giving her a little nudge until she moved over and he crawled into bed beside her.

“Bit cramped,” she mumbled as he pulled the blanket over both their heads. “This bed isn’t really built for two.”

“All the better for cuddling,” he responded, squashing them together so she could feel his hearts beating against hers and his hands warm against her back. She threw one leg over his, snuggling closer to his side.

“Is that what you call this? I can think of other words.”

“River!” His cheek was resting against her forehead and she could feel the heat of his blush as she grinned wickedly.

“Sorry; I always forget about that. A thousand years old, and you still blush like a schoolgirl.”

“Twelve hundred and four; but who’s counting?”

“Well, obviously not you…”

He pressed a kiss to her temple, and she sighed, relaxing just a little in his arms. The banter was nice. Almost enough to distract her from all the things she didn’t want to think about.

“Do you want to talk?” he whispered; and she shivered a little bit as thoughts and feelings from earlier that day came rushing back over her.

“No.”

“I’m here if you want to…”

“I said **no**.” She could hear how harsh her voice was, but did nothing to change her tone. “You can’t fix everything, Doctor. Apparently.”

She could feel his hurt, radiating off him and into her; and she clamped down on it, trying to suppress it. She had her own grief to address. She didn’t want his.

But she could still feel it, and it was driving her mad. So she pulled away -slightly, as much as her narrow bed would allow- to tip her head up and look at him.

“How are my parents? Have you seen them lately?”

“They’re fine,” he answered quickly. “Amy being a bit Scottish; Rory with that nose… They’re fine. Why? Do you want to go see them?”

“And if I did? Could we go?”

A slight pause, and she narrowed her eyes. Hard to read his expressions when they were smashed together underneath a dark blanket… but there was something there. He might know her well enough to know if she was alright… but oh, she was learning him, too.

“If you want.”

It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it. A hint of reluctance, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes… and she knew in a heartbeat that whatever had happened, whatever that event was with Weeping Angels that exiled her parents to early 20th century New York; he’d already done it, and he _knew_.

“No,” she mumbled, pressing her face against his shoulder. “Not tonight.” She could feel the tension leaving his body, his slight sigh as his arms tightened around her.

“We could, if you wanted. We’d have to call first. Just to check… see if they’re in. They hate it when I drop by unannounced. Did that once; found them in bed and…” he shuddered in recollection, and she smiled.

“Not tonight,” she said again, pressing her face harder into his shoulder, feeling the sharpness of his collarbones beneath her cheek, the tweed itching under her chin. “I don’t want to see them right now.”

The sounds of Stormcage, the constant thunder and lightning flashes it was famous for were muted beneath the blanket; and she huddled next to him, taking comfort in his closeness, his warmth beside her.

“How many people have travelled with you?” she asked suddenly, feeling his hands still against her back in surprise. “In twelve hundred years, how many people have there been who meant something to you?”

“Too many to count,” he answered. “Hundreds. Thousands, even.”

“You forget how many there were, exactly? Were my parents just the latest in a long line, then?”

She could feel his smile, soft and bittersweet, against her forehead. “I never forget them, River. I remember each one; even when I don’t go back for them, or when I know they’re gone... I loved them, and I remember them all. And your parents…” He paused, shaking his head. 

“How could I forget the Ponds? Amelia Pond, the girl who waited; and Rory Williams, the last Centurion. Your parents; the best of what humanity has to offer. How could I ever forget them?”

“Then how do you stand it?” Her fingers were clenched in his lapels, the knowledge of what would happen like a weight in her head, in her hearts. “Knowing that you’re going to live forever, and the people you love will just fade and die?”

“I won’t live forever,” the Doctor whispered. “Time Lords have a finite lifespan, just like everything else.”

“Twelve hundred and four sounds pretty old to me.”

He scoffed. “Semantics, River.”

“You’re not answering my question,” she persisted. “How do you do it? How do you deal with saying good-bye?”

There was a long pause, with only the gentle caress of his hands smoothing down her spine to mark the time. He cleared his throat; the sound emerging as an odd croak in the quiet between them.

“I don’t,” he admitted finally. “I don’t deal with it. I don’t like seeing the people I love getting older, because I know that it’s getting closer to when I have to say goodbye and be alone without them. I hate goodbyes, River. I hate endings.”

“Then what do you do? Just… leave?”

She already knew the answer, and she knew that he knew that. So he didn’t reply; and his silence told her more than words ever would.

“You love them and know you’ll miss them when they‘re gone, but you really just leave people behind? Run away? You told _me_ to never run when I’m scared. Don‘t you remember your own rules, Doctor?”

He laughed softly, a childish sounding chuckle with so much sadness in it as he tugged the ends of her hair until her face was tipped up to him.

“Rule one.”

“The Doctor lies,” River murmured. “I knew that. But I didn’t think that meant that you held people to better standards than the ones you practice. Why do you counsel me not to run away, but you do it?”

“Because you, River Song, are so much braver than I am.”

She smiled slightly, hearing his confession. The words, soft and low, pulled grudgingly out of his mouth by honesty.

“Am I?” she asked. “You think I’m braver than you are? The great Doctor?”

“My River,” he whispered, lowering his head until his lips could just softly brush against hers, “isn’t afraid of anything. She can go anywhere, and do anything… She is so, so brave, and I love that about her.”

“Do anything, you say?” River asked, her hearts beating a little faster, and not only from his kiss. “Can she - I mean, can I?”

“You can find a way to do almost anything.”

 _Anything,_ she thought, her mind racing and jumping from idea to idea, concept to concept. _River Song can do anything… except that I am her. And maybe, I can fix things that even the Doctor can‘t._

“I’ve changed my mind,” River said. “Can we go out somewhere?”

He was pulling her in for another kiss -and she could feel him pouting a little- but he sighed and smiled as he leaned back. “Anywhere you want, Doctor Song. Just name it.”

“Tescos. I’m running low on tea.”

* * *

She dressed with care this time. A dark blue dress borrowed from the TARDIS, the fullness of the long, demure skirt contradicting the low neckline. Pointy-toed high heels and stockings with seams up the backs; a gold necklace and tiny hoop earrings. Vortex manipulator looking shockingly out of place on her wrist, and a carrier bag stuffed with tea clutched in her hand.

And she was ready, she thought, full of anticipation and a hint of anxiety. Ready for whatever she’d find on the other side of that door in New York.

Rory, this time. Flinging the door open, pulling her into a tight embrace that made her bones ache and her ribs threaten to crack… but oh, she loved every moment of it.

“You owe me two hugs,” he said, not letting her go. “I didn’t see you yesterday. And we don’t see you nearly enough.”

“But I brought tea this time,” she managed to squeak, feeling all the air leaving her lungs from the depth of his hug. “Tea!”

“Which I’ll rescue, thank you very much!” Amy had appeared out of nowhere, whisking the bag from her hand, and pushing it at Rory.

“You,” she said, with a grin that transformed her from the indescribable Amy that River had met the previous day, into the Amelia that Mels had grown up with, “go make us a cup. I think I am owed a hug from my daughter.”

“You saw her yesterday; but I’m the one relegated to tea duty?” Rory laughed, even as he headed into the kitchen, and Amy pulled River into a fierce embrace.

“Are you alright?” she whispered. “You ran out of here so fast yesterday, and by the time I got to the door you were gone.”

 _I’m fine._ The lie was on the tip of her tongue, teetering toward her lips when she abruptly answered honestly. “No,” River admitted. “I’m not alright. But I came back; so doesn’t that count for something?”

Amy nodded, pulling her by one hand into the kitchen. Already, just from yesterday, it seemed familiar. So much like home… although maybe that was due to the company. Amy, in a pale green dress much shorter than fashions really ought to be dictating now… a dress that River thought she remembered from a trip into London with Mels. And Rory, casual in jeans and t-shirt, hair sticking almost straight up around his face.

If it wasn’t for the appliances straight out of the 1930s, the scrubbed wooden table and New York scenery outside the window, she could have been back in Leadworth. Almost. There was still something; something too vague to put her finger on that seemed so out of place.

“Amy said she told you yesterday,” Rory said, putting her tea down in front of her. “How we ended up here.”

“She told me,” River agreed. “And I still don’t believe it.”

“Believe it.” Rory shrugged, setting a plate of biscuits in the centre of the table, turning to give her a sidelong look. “We’re New Yorkers now, little lady.”

She snorted with laughter, hearts lightening in a brief moment of hilarity. Rory did always make her laugh… and hearing him deliver that line, straight faced with a gravel-like American accent was beyond funny.

“Just listen to you! What are you… nurse by day; New York gangster at night?” Her parents both chuckled in appreciation, sitting down across from her at the table.

“Close,” Amy responded, taking a sip of tea. “But he’s a doctor now, not a nurse.”

All at once, the laughter went away. “But,” River protested, “you were a nurse. A good one.”

He shrugged. “It caused too much attention in these days. Men weren’t nurses. Anyway, I always wanted to be a doctor; and after Amy--”

“I kept writing,” she cut in smoothly, with a warning look. “I’d written travel articles for awhile back in England, and the first book I published here made enough money for him to go to medical school.”

“In Old New York,” River added, unable to let that go. “You’re living in early 20th century New York.”

“There are worst places to be,” Amy said cheerfully. “After all, New York is the land of great shopping! Even if they haven‘t embraced-”

“Mini skirts,” Rory grumbled with a slight frown at his wife, “Yeah, we know. We’ve both heard that complaint before.”

Amy made a face at him, and him at her; until River rolled her eyes, good naturedly. 

“When did the two of you get so you could finish each others sentences? You never used to, and it’s…”

“Love?” Rory suggested.

“Marriage,” Amy said.

“I was going with creepy.” She shook her head, her mind caught in a sudden thought. “Is that what the Doctor and I have to look forward to? Knowing each other enough that it’s like we share a brain?

“I think,” Rory said wryly, “you two think enough alike anyway.” Amy nodded, not even bothering to conceal a smirk. 

River smiled, even as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to figure out how to start. She‘d had a plan for this trip. Something to propose.

“I wanted to ask something,” she began awkwardly, groping for her tea and taking a sip. “You said he can't fix this. The Doctor.”

Amy and Rory exchanged a look; a deeply significant one. 

“No,” Amy replied, apparently the spokesperson for their team of two. “He can't.”

“Not even with the TARDIS, you said.” Encouraged by their nods, she barrelled into the rest of her speech, everything she’d been thinking and planning falling haphazardly out of her mouth.

“But maybe I could.” At Amy's expression, River spoke faster. “No, listen. I was thinking about it… With the vortex manipulator, I could take you back to the 21st century. It would play with your time streams but it’s not impossible; as long as I move you to a different place -not Leadworth- it won‘t create a paradox, and why are you both shaking your heads? It would work. I know it would!”

 _And then_ , she continued in her head, not daring to say the words aloud, _you won’t be stuck here_. It was too easy to see the correlations between them and her. Trapped, living in a time and place not native to them. Living without their families.

And maybe she wouldn’t be doing it from the most noble of reasons. It was less out of worry for them, living in old New York, than it was for her… She wanted her parents. River Song had finally gotten to a point when she could be honest and she could have the family she’d wanted; and to know they were scattered in time and she’d have to say goodbye when she’d just properly found them… well. Even if it was selfishly motivated, she wasn’t ready to give up on having them in her life. She couldn’t. And there had to be a way to fix things. 

“It won't work,” Amy said, her voice gentle. “What happened, River, was meant to happen. I told you; we’re not exactly stuck. There are a lot of reasons why we stay here. And one of them… we can’t feel fixed points like you and the Doctor can; but believe me: us being here is fixed. There‘s proof we stay.”

“Who told you that?” River demanded. She could hear the pleading in her voice, the desperation. “What proof? And fixed points can be rewritten!” 

“No,” Rory said quickly. “Fixed points are going to happen no matter what; you told us that when we got here. Two paths diverging in the woods, but always leading to the same place. Anyway, we won’t let you rip reality apart, not again and not for us. It’s useless. And you did so much to get us settled alre-” He broke off, glancing at Amy.

“I mean,” he continued smoothly, “there’s no reason to. We’re alright, River. It’s not as bad as you would think, you know. It was like a new adventure at first. Fixing our finances, finding this apartment, getting jobs…” 

“The hardest part,” Amy said, a teasing note in her voice, “was not having telly or mobiles... But we don’t miss them. Well… not all the time, anyway.”

She was looking from one to the other, despair almost choking her as she saw her plans falling to shreds. It hadn’t occurred to her that maybe they wouldn’t want to be saved. That maybe, they weren’t as desperate to leave New York as _she_ was for them to be back in Leadworth. 

“If you won’t let me save you, then tell me something else,” River demanded. “The Doctor can’t save you, you said. Why? There’s something I think you’re not telling me. And I think it’s about him.” She bit her lip, searching for the right words, the proper words to use about Amy’s Doctor. Her Doctor now, too. 

“Why can’t he come back for you in the TARDIS? Is he _really_ unable to? Or did he… leave?”

She didn’t want to ask, and yet she wanted to know. Madame Kovarian had made she knew (proof, she’d called it, of his utter disregard for life), and even without him saying it, she’d heard the stories, all the stories about friends and strangers and enemies and Companions left to make their way after he abandoned them. She tried not to think about it too hard but he’d even left _her_ , alone in a hospital in the 51st century and surrounded by cats in nurse’s clothes… and she still blamed him that she’d never look at kittens the same way again. It had been for noble reasons, allowing her to become who she was supposed to be… but it had still been leaving. The Doctor being the Doctor; always running. Leaving and not looking back.

But the Ponds, _his_ Ponds were special. She’d always thought, in word and deed, that they were special…

“Did he?” River insisted, staring hard at Amy. “Just tell me; did he leave you behind?”

“River,” Amy said, leaning across the table to twine their fingers together. “You _are_ young, aren’t you? Don’t you know him, yet? He didn’t leave us; he wouldn‘t have.”

“Then why he hasn’t come back for you?”

“He can’t. Timelines and paradox… if he brings the TARDIS here one more time, he could rip New York apart; and he seems to spend a lot of time resetting the universe…” At the blank look on River’s face, Rory sighed and Amy flinched. 

“Maybe you should be doing this,” she snapped, glaring at her husband. “I keep giving her spoiler after spoiler.” Rory held up his hands, shaking his head in an unmistakable ‘not me’ motion, and Amy grumbled.

“Sorry,” she muttered, still glaring at Rory before turning back to River. “You were always really good with the spoiler thing; sorry I’m rubbish at it now that I’m the older one.

“River, I knew that the Doctor wouldn’t be able to come back for us. Don’t you understand? I’m trying not to give away too much. But he didn’t leave us behind. _We_ left him. There was a decision to make, and you said -will say, I guess- ‘never let him see the damage’. So… one of the things that made up my mind was that I realised that I could never have hidden it from him; that in the end, if I had taken the other possibility, he would have seen me hurting every day. And that would have hurt him far more than us just leaving ever would.”

“But you can't be happy here!” River burst out, desperately clutching at straws. There had to be something to say, some way to convince them. “You're not in the right time or even the right place-”

“When we first got here,” Rory said, “we thought about moving back to England. But it’s been nine years, and we’ve made a life here. A better one than we had in Leadworth, if we’re honest.”

“We’re happy, River.” Amy smiled, squeezing her daughter’s hands gently. “You know -or, you will know- that we’re happy.”

She liked to think of them being happy. But whenever she’d pictured them, it was 21st century Leadworth, living in a house with a bright blue door. Her parents, together, in a place she could visit whenever she chose to pop by with her husband in the TARDIS. Not in New York, displaced in location and time and unable to return. Not with them seeming so… different. So unlike the Amy and Rory that Mels had grown up with. 

And not when she’d have to say good-bye.

“You don't even have your families…” she began, voice plaintive. But as she said it, she knew. It was never about their parents or their friends. It hadn’t even been about her, as Mels or Melody. It was always about the two of them. When they were together, they didn’t need anyone else.

“Never mind,” she said dully, dropping her head in defeat. “I get it. I can’t save you; or you won’t let me. And you’re alright with being here in New York because you’re together, and you’re _happy_.” She said the last word as though it were something horrible, something dirty; and she could feel them flinch.

“It was my first time yesterday,” she admitted. “Breaking out of Stormcage. And I wanted to come see you. I missed you.”

“We miss you too,” Rory said quietly, almost to himself. “All the time.”

“And now I find out that I thought everything would be fine… I’m finally the River Song that you’ve always known, aren’t I?” At Amy’s nod, River took another breath, trying to find just the right words.

“Just when I thought everything would turn out correct for a change; it doesn’t. Because I’m alone. Again. How many times can I lose the two of you, anyway?”

“You’re not alone,” Amy said immediately. She scooted her chair over, slinging an arm around River’s shoulder. Something about that gesture was so… natural. As though she’d done it a thousand times before whenever she knew her daughter was upset; and River leaned toward her slightly, inhaling her familiar perfume and feeling her hearts unknot a little. 

“You’re forgetting about the Doctor,” Amy continued. “You have us, and you have him… and you will never be alone, because we will always love you and be there for you.” 

She knew that Amy meant it to be comforting, but River could only see the tarnished side of the coin in that argument. 

“Yes; the Doctor. I have him, don’t I? Every night while I’m in prison, covering for a crime I didn’t commit; I’ve got him, and never in the right order. And I have the two of you. In a place even the TARDIS can’t go to.” Her words were bitter, like acid; and she felt the tears starting to pool in her eyes.

She’d been so hopeful when she arrived. River Song was brave, and River Song could do _anything_. She had saved the Doctor and then fulfilled the date of his ‘death‘; even if the cost of all that had been her freedom. And she had thought -childishly, foolishly- that she could save her parents too. Save them from whatever this event was in her future and their past… except they didn’t want to be saved, and there was nothing she could do. Nothing, except say good-bye.

“I have to go,” she said, standing quickly and pulling away from Amy. “I just… I have to leave.”

“No, River. Wait…” Rory was standing, reaching one hand out to push her gently back into her chair, but she dodged away, walking swiftly toward the door. 

“I have to get back. The guard can't notice I'm gone.” A lie, but one she knew they wouldn't know. The manipulator was much more precise than the TARDIS, and she knew she’d be capable of landing _her_ within a seconds proximity to where she needed to go. It would be no problem now to stay away as long as she chose, and still be able to return to Stormcage whenever she wanted.

But this conversation was too much, and River squeezed her eyes shut tight as she walked to the door, not turning around until the very last moment.

“The stories you told me… I really thought the Doctor could do anything.”

“A lot,” Amy admitted. “He can do a lot. He can fix a lot. But he can’t do everything. Time lines and paradox… he can‘t rip the world apart, and we wouldn‘t want him to.”

“I really thought I could do anything. Fix things that even he couldn’t…”

“You’re our daughter,” Rory said, pulling her into a tight embrace. Amy flung her arms around the both of them, and they stood, huddled, as a mass of three. “Maybe these are the words of a doting dad, but you could do anything.”

“No,” River said, breaking away from them and punching in coordinates on her manipulator. “Apparently I can’t.”


	3. the truth is out there

She regretted sometimes that the Doctor knew her as well as he did. Because if he had been someone else -anyone else- he might have been taken in by her smiling façade. Her false enthusiasm when he showed up at Stormcage the next few nights, whisking her away to amazing and spectacular sights. Oh, she loved each place, loved the adventures… but the knowledge that she would say goodbye to Amy and Rory, never go back and visit in the TARDIS… Foreknowledge had never felt so weighty, and she felt her parents’ fate sitting upon her at every turn, preying upon her mind and destroying the thrill she should have had in each new experience. 

And worst of all, she could tell that he knew. It was as though he could read in her eyes that there was something wrong she wasn’t telling him. A misery she couldn’t forget.

“I was thinking of a special trip tonight,” he said, giving her a careful, sidelong look as she prowled the console room, sunken into a perpetual bad mood. “Special people I think you’ll like seeing.”

“Do these at least have the right number of limbs?” She could hear the forlorn whinging in her voice, but couldn’t bring herself to care. “I don’t want to make judgements; but it seemed wrong on the colony of Jeysre for humans to have seven arms. I don‘t think evolution meant for that to happen.”

“Mostly 21st century human, these people,” the Doctor said grinning, as the ship ground to a shuddering halt and he danced over to open the doors. “Two arms and two legs each, non-swappable heads, and everything right where they ought to be. You‘ll love this, River.”

He flung the doors open, but as she made to follow him, the voices outside stopped her. Familiar voices, heard for the last time in old New York.

“Raggedy Man! On my flowers, again?”

“Provides a soft landing, Pond. Rory the Roman! Permission?”

“Oh… go ahead.”

It was a young Doctor who had come for her tonight, a young Doctor who obviously hadn’t done New York, didn’t know yet what she did. And therefore, couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want to face them. Why she couldn’t force herself to walk out and see them and pretend that everything was alright… 

“I've brought you a surprise,” River heard her husband say gleefully. “Come on, no hiding.” He tugged at her hand, prying her fingers from the death grip she had on the TARDIS doors to haul her outside.

Amy stood before her, fiercely red haired, not a single strand of silver in sight. And young, so very very young; but in the same pale green dress she’d been wearing the last time she’d seen her. River blinked, hard. Amy Pond then and Amy Pond now wavered in her mind, overlapping but not solidifying into one image. There was a disconnect, a hitch that separated one from the other.

“Hello, Amy,” she mumbled, feeling awkward.

“What's this ‘Amy’ business? We are not such a modern family that you call your old Mum by her first name!”

She tried to smile, feeling her cheeks might crack from the effort. “Hello, Mum,” she managed. “Hello, Dad.”

“Once more,” Rory said, giving her a quick hug before relinquishing her to Amy. “Say it again, but with even less enthusiasm this time.”

“He’s right,” Amy grumbled, looking a little hurt. “You sound like you don’t even want to be here…”

_I don’t,_ was her immediate thought. She bit her lip to prevent the words coming out. _The last time I saw you, I was aware that I could never come visit you in the TARDIS again; but I couldn’t have anticipated the times I see you in your past._

Sometimes, time travel gave her a headache.

“I do,” she lied, hoping she sounded convincing. The smiles from Amy and Rory told her that they were buying it; but the Doctor hung back, forehead creased as he watched her. “I was just a bit surprised. Seeing you! The Doctor didn‘t tell me…”

“Well, come in.” Amy opened the door, ushering them inside. “You’re in time for tea. Rory cooked-”

“It’s safer that way,” Rory mumbled. “Amy in the kitchen…”

“Oi, you! Shut up in front of our daughter!”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Rory cooked; Sunday roast and veg. _I_ made the pudding, which is after all the best part of any meal. And yes, Doctor, there are fish fingers for you…”

The Doctor let the Ponds walk in front of them, before grabbing River by the elbow, leaning in to her. “Are you alright?” he whispered in her ear. “I thought it would be a nice surprise for you; they always like seeing you, and they’re your parents… I thought you’d be happy.”

“I am,” she lied. “I like seeing them too.”

But she should have known, it was no good lying to him. He might be a younger Doctor than the ones she‘d been seeing the last few days; but youth was relative, and he still knew her far better than she knew him.

“Alright, I’m not. Can I ask you something?” He nodded. “If you knew that something was wrong in the future; would you change it?”

“Don't I always?” He gave her a sly smile, a little wink.

“Do you?”

“Well… I try,” he said, ducking his head down with a modest blush. “I always try. Except when I can't.”

“Fixed points?”

“Exactly.”

“What about paradoxes?”

“Them too.”

“And if the people involved tell you not to change anything?”

“Would it surprise you,” he tapped her nose, grinning like a child, “that sometimes I can be a bit… ahh… _selective_ about listening to arguments like that?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Doctor, there’s something that I found out--”

“This sounds,” he said suddenly, turning serious as he raked a hand through his hair, “like a spoilers region, River. Have to be very careful with foreknowledge… you know that.”

She made a face at him, but couldn’t fault the mildness of his reprimand.

“Fine,” she said tartly. “I’ll be careful. I don’t know everything anyway; they were careful not to tell me details. But; if I were to know that something is going to happen, and that it’s impossible to fix -for many reasons- but is supposed to be full of fixed points and paradoxes and will result in a lot of loss… what would you do, if you knew something like that? About someone you love?”

There was a dark expression on his face all of a sudden, sad and ugly as he looked at her and through her all at the same time. He reached out to stroke his hand over her hair, twisting curls around his fingers.

“I suppose I'd still try to find a way,” he answered quietly. Soberly. Like his mind was somewhere else.

“And if you still couldn't? Or if the people involved tell you not to change anything… if they say they want things to happen as they will?” If possible, the look on his face darkened even further. 

“Then even if it kills me, I'd have to accept it.” He sighed heavily, holding her arm to lead her into the kitchen. “Sometimes you can't change the future, River. You make the best choices available, but what is meant to happen is always going to.”

She’d hoped he would have some words of wisdom, some magical fix-it cure. But even as she’d wished for it; she knew it didn’t exist. In some ways they were alike, the two of them. Fighting against the things that could be changed. But for this… he wouldn’t be able to change things, and maybe she really couldn’t either. She would never be able to fix them properly… and as she walked into the kitchen with her young, smiling family, it killed her a little bit inside to know that whenever that time came in New York, that time when her parents would choose to leave… she would just have to accept the loss of the Ponds. Apparently.

* * *

It was the normal family meal she’d always dreamed of; and she was too on edge to enjoy it. Rory serving up roast beef and gravy, winking as he placed carrots on the side of her plate in the shape of a smiley face. And Amy, bubbling over with excitement as she told them about her new job. They’d asked her to write an article for a magazine she’d modelled for; and she’d decided to write about travelling.

“I could take you someplace good,” the Doctor said, thoughtfully swirling a fish finger through the custard on his plate. “Ever been to New York?”

“No!” River burst out. They all turned to watch her, surprised, and she hastily shrugged. “I just think someplace closer might be nice.”

“She’s right,” Rory said, face screwed up in disgust as he watched the Doctor sucking custard off the fish finger with obvious relish. “They recommended Majorca. And we might have to travel by the normal channels; you know, a plane.”

“Even though they’re _so_ overrated,” Amy giggled. “I could always just make up the plane ride part…“

She breathed a sigh of relief, only half listening to the rest of the conversation as she helped Amy do the washing up, smiling indulgently as the Doctor dragged Rory into the garden to begin kicking a football back and forth between them. 

“They’re funny, aren’t they?” Amy said, coming up behind River and standing with her to look out the window. “Our boys.”

“He's such a child,” River observed, watching her husband run; arms flailing, braces falling off his shoulders. “I thought only children run like that.”

“He is a child,” Amy remarked fondly. “And watch out around biscuits. He inhales them. I don't even think he chews.

“I’m glad you came by today,” she continued, deliberately keeping her attention focused out the window and not on her daughter. “This you; a younger you. I mean… the older you already does it. But I think, this young, maybe you need to be told… 

“Anyway. Rory and I were talking, and I’d like you to do something for me. For us.”

She paused, letting the silence drag between them until River turned to face her. “What is it?” she demanded. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to look after him.” A tilt of Amy’s chin gestured out the window toward the Doctor, and River frowned.

“Look after him?” she asked. “Look after him, how?”

“He’s showing up less and less these days; and sometimes when he does, he just acts all forgetful and weird.” A loud whooping from the Doctor made both of them look out the window, and Amy rolled her eyes at his victory dance around the yard. “I mean, weirder than usual.

“Rory and I; we're not always there, and he needs… He needs someone, even if he doesn‘t like to admit it. Right now, he’s my regular Raggedy Doctor; but the last time we saw him in Mexico he was…“ She shook her head, making a face.

“He gets this _look_. You’ll know what I mean when you see it. When he starts to feel too much, and worry and fear and grieve too much… he just can’t take it. He needs someone to make him laugh, and make him think. He doesn’t do well when he travels alone. Gets all impulsive and lonely and wild… like someone else I know.” Amy grinned. “You two really are made for each other.”

River was still squinting at her in confusion. “I still don’t understand. You want me to be... you? Looking after him while we travel?”

“No,” Amy sighed. “You can’t be _us_. You can be something better for him. His wife. Look after him. Take care of him.”

“Finish each other’s sentences?” River mumbled, thinking of her parents in the future, sitting around a scrubbed wooden table in New York.

“What? No.”

“Sorry,” River murmured. “Bad joke.”

“He made me a promise at Demon’s Run: he will take care of you and be there when you call, no matter what you need… and I know my Raggedy Man. He always will. The fact that you’re here now, visiting from Stormcage is proof of that. He told me,“ Amy said, lowering her voice confidentially, “that he thought something was wrong you didn’t want to talk about, and you needed to see your Mum… so that’s why he brought you here today.“

River shrugged, not wanting to confirm or deny anything. He hadn‘t been wrong; there was something that she didn‘t want to talk about. But perhaps, coming to see her parents in the past wasn‘t helpful, as what was wrong was that she knew she was going to lose them in the future…

“So now,” Amy continued, “I need the same promise from you. You‘ll take care of him, even if Rory and I aren‘t there. _Especially_ if we‘re not there.”

“Why is this important to you?” River asked, trying not to feel frustrated by the conversation. “Why now?”

Amy sighed, putting her arm around River’s shoulders tentatively. “Is this alright with you?” she asked. “This seems like a mother-daughter sort of moment.”

“It’s fine,” River responded automatically. “You’re my Mum; I think you can put your arm around me if you’d like.”

Amy gave a small giggle, keeping her arm draped around River awkwardly. “It’s like this,” she said, sighing again. “We’re getting older, and doing all that responsible stuff. Making wills, and life plans, and bequeathing things… And we realised that the things we have now, they’re all just material. It doesn’t matter who gets them. The only items of value that we worry about are… you. And the Doctor. It’ll make us happy to know you're both taken care of.”

“You’re making a will?” River asked, momentarily distracted. “Why?”

“Because that’s what you do, when you’re in your thirties,” Amy said. “You grow up. And you think about the future as a coming reality; not just an abstract.”

Amy was standing close to her, close enough that River could suddenly see it. “You’ve got a grey hair,” she remarked. “I didn’t see it before, but you do.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Silver, please. Grey makes me sound-”she shuddered, “ _old_.”

“Silver has more dignity?” River couldn’t help her smile.

“That’s right,” Amy agreed. “Dignity. Very befitting, I think.”

“Just listen to Amy Pond,” River teased. “Worrying about getting older.”

“Amy Pond _wouldn’t_ have worried about things like that,” Amy teased back, face lit up with a grin. “Amy Pond thought she’d live forever, travelling with her boys and getting into trouble. But legally I am Amelia Williams; and she is far more mature and dignified, thank you very much. And, she’s your Mum, who is asking her daughter Melody for a promise.”

“You’re using my real name,” River said. “You must be serious.”

“Very. Now: promise. You’ll look after him.” 

“I don‘t think,” River said, shrugging self-consciously, “that he needs that. Me looking after him. He’s the one who seems to take care of me, what with the visits and the adventures…”

“Marriage,” Amy responded nonchalantly. “You take care of each other when it’s necessary. You’re really young now, compared to him; but one day that’ll change and you’ll be the older one. And when you are, you’ll realise that his _I’m the Doctor, I can do anything swagger_ -” Amy broke off to mime fiddling with a bowtie, making River giggle, “is an act.”

Strange to think of the Doctor being so young as to need her the way Amy was saying. “I still don’t think,” River began, stopping at Amy’s frown.

“Are you doubting your Mother, Melody Pond?”

“Ohh,” River said, smiling a little despite herself. “My full name… now I’m really in trouble. Alright. If it means so much to you: I promise. I‘ll look after him.”

“Good girl.” Amy gave her a little squeeze, and River relaxed, breathing in the scent of her perfume, feeling her mother’s arm around her. Not awkward, anymore. Natural, and all so familiar, for the both of them it seemed.

“Amelia Williams certainly is a worrier,” River remarked idly. “You never used to be like that.”

“Well,” Amy said, tossing her hair back with an insouciant flip of her head. “Amelia Williams will always care and worry about those she loves. She loves Rory -that’ll never change- and the Doctor. _And_ her daughter.” 

The wording of that felt very important, all of a sudden; and River turned to Amy, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. 

“Do you really think of me as your daughter now?” she asked quietly. “I always felt… I haven’t seen you very much, after Berlin. Too busy at University, and then getting-“ she rolled her eyes, “convicted. But it always felt, the few times that I did see you, that you weren’t sure how to react to me. I’m not the baby you lost, or the childhood friend you grew up with anymore… I wasn’t even really the River Song you’d met before.” 

“I can’t believe you even need to ask that,” Amy said, making a face. “Yeah, maybe I felt like that right at first. It took a while to be alright with everything. But… don’t you know that you’re always my Melody? No matter what we call you, or how old or young you are. You’re my _daughter_ … and I will always love and worry about you.”

Amy grinned, a little self-consciously. “That’s what Mums do.”

She fixed River with a significant look; and River‘s eyes widened as she stared back, hearing Amy’s words and seeing all the little puzzle pieces and hints from the future that she’d noticed but not understood slotting into place. Those differences between the Amy of her memories and the Amy from the future… River shook her head, a tiny smile creeping over her face.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, ducking away from Amy and heading out of the room. “Just one moment; give me one moment…”

She hid in the hallway, pulling the manipulator from her pocket and hastily strapping it on her wrist, punching in coordinates and reappearing moments later in front of a familiar door in New York. She knocked, three swift taps, and her mother opened the door immediately. Almost as though she’d been standing there, just waiting.

“I thought you’d be back,” she said quietly, holding out her arms. “You were so upset earlier…”

“It’s been a few days for me,” River answered. “Only a few hours for you though.”

“True,” Rory said, coming up behind Amy. “We’re lucky; two visits from our favourite daughter in one day.”

“Only daughter,” River retorted.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not still our favourite.”

She grinned, reaching out to hug him. Rested her head against his shoulder, squeezing her arms tight around him.

“I can’t stay,” she said, pulling away slightly, reluctant to stop hugging him. “I just… I wanted to ask: when the two of you leave, when you _decide_ to leave… what do I tell you?”

“I think,” Rory said, backing away with a glance at his wife, “that I don’t need to be part of this conversation. I’ll let Amy handle this.”

She turned expectant eyes on her mother; and Amy paused, obviously debating what she could say. “You told me to go,” she said finally. “You told the Doctor to shut up, and you told me this was my best chance, and I should go… And I’ve always been grateful for that. I don’t know if I would have had the courage, if you didn’t tell me I should.”

River nodded, intently. She’d realised, in the last few minutes with the Amy she‘d just come from in the past, that it must been something like that. Because she’d finally figured out what it was, that elusive air in New York that she hadn’t been able to describe before. _Maturity._ It hadn’t been so obvious in Rory; he’d always been Rory. Being a 2000 year old Centurion did seem to have its perks; and lifelong gravity seemed to be a major component of that.

But she could suddenly see it in Amy. The Amy Pond she’d always known -the irrepressible, blissfully hedonistic Amy that Mels had grown up with - would eventually become the Amy in New York. Her mother: Amelia Williams. Dignified and mature, a mother in deed as well as name. Comfortable enough in their relationship to know it was alright to give her daughter a hug when she knew she was upset… or even to sense, somehow, when she would come to visit.

“Are you alright?” Amy asked, carefully scrutinizing her face. 

“I’m fine,” River insisted. “I just wanted to see you -this you- and tell you that I understand… whatever is going to happen in my future has to happen to turn you into who you were meant to be. And I promise I won’t try to change it. I’ll tell you to go; as I evidently did. It’s just…” 

She paused, biting her lip. “I’ll miss you,” River admitted in a low voice. “I thought we'd finally be a family. The things normal people do: Sunday dinners and birthday parties and happy Christmases... Popping by with the Doctor in the TARDIS, family trips. I thought, now you know everything that I'd finally get that.”

Amy looked at her, gaze steady and slightly confused. “You _are_ young, aren‘t you?” she murmured, tucking a curl behind her daughters ear. “Thought Time Lord DNA was supposed to be so superior… maybe you’re all this blind, young? Try not to tease the Doctor too much when it’s his turn.

“No, it's true,” she said a little sadly. “No trips in the TARDIS for us.

“But…” Her voice faded and her eyes darted momentarily to the manipulator on River's wrist, “I think that my daughter can do just about anything. And don’t forget: you might be all grown up, but you’re never too old to call your old Mum if you want.” 

She didn't think about what Amy had said as she popped back to 21st century Leadworth, her smiles and laughter coming more easily now as she talked with her parents, joined them in teased her husband about his driving skills and general lack of coordination. She didn’t think about it as she hugged Rory, and then Amy goodbye, promising to visit soon; and back in the TARDIS she gave the Doctor a gentle shove and a cheeky wink before she took over the controls for the first time since Berlin, navigating them back to Stormcage with barely a bump and not missing the delighted look in his eyes beneath his pout that she was flying his ship better than he did.

In fact, she didn’t remember those words until much later that night, alone in Stormcage in a surprisingly good mood and humming to herself as she began organizing books into ordered stacks, slipping photos into albums.

And then she stopped, suddenly. Lowered the pictures of her family clutched in her hands… and began to laugh helplessly with understanding.

Embarrassing, really, that it had taken her so long. By her second trip to New York, she _should_ have gotten it… but -the older River justified, thinking back- sometimes the young walk through life with blinders on; and heavens, but she _had_ been so very young then. Seeing only what was in front of her and not thinking of the whole picture.

She knew the truth of what would happen to her parents, during a trip to New York in their past and her future. But there was another truth there too, and far more important. _They remembered._ They remembered seeing her seeing her in the future… many, many times in the future; from how she was greeted. As though it was perfectly normal to find River Song on their doorstep… which really meant that nothing was over.

And strangely, that idea gave hope where nothing else did. Through the adventures she has with her parents in the following years, with and without the Doctor -the visits to the house in Leadworth, the happy Christmases, the birthday parties and simple Sunday dinners- is the thought that even when the idyllic time with the Ponds ends, farewell does not necessarily mean goodbye.


	4. amor fati

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amor fati = latin for ‘love of [one’s own] fate’. Literally: accepting the events that occur… when one sees everything in life -including suffering and loss- as good; destiny’s way of reaching its ultimate purpose.
> 
> If I haven’t mentioned it before, chapter titles are tag lines from the X-files (except for ‘I want to believe’… which, despite its popularity wasn’t *actually* used as a tag).

Standing with her husband and her mother in a New York graveyard, River wishes that she could tell them the truth: no lies, no spoilers (and oh, she hates that word more now that it is not just his, but hers, too). She wishes she could say the soothing words to make this all better. 

_It’ll be ok. Trust me. We’ll all be happy in the end._ Amy and Rory will be reunited, and she’ll have her parents, and even the Doctor will eventually be fine… 

Placating sentences linger on the tip of her tongue but she holds them back. They won’t be believed because right now, nothing is fine. Rory has vanished, Amy makes her choice and disappears; and River is left with a sobbing husband whom she leads -walking backwards, testing each footstep and carefully keeping her eyes on the angel- gently back into his ship.

Once they’re inside, she waits. He’s young today, and she’s old; but as much as he knew her in the past, she knows him ten times better now. And she knows it’s coming. The anger of a child, all stamping feet and indignant protestations. His other faces - oh, they express rage in different ways; violent, clever, evasive ways- but this face, this much beloved, youthful face… for him it is sulks and bitter, righteous words coupled with carefully maintained anger to hide his anguish.

But she waits in vain. Because the words never come… and far, far worse than his hysterical tears is the silent despair he sinks into. She smiles and flirts anyway, masking her affection and concern for his well-being beneath flippant comments and nonchalant shrugs until his grief begins to drive her a bit mad and she can see the walls coming up, the sadness and the loneliness and the pain pain pain in his eyes. 

Twice she has promised to look after him: in the past when she was too young to understand all it entailed, and once again in the present, now that she knows first-hand how difficult her mother's task really is. Some days it is the hardest job in the world, looking after her Doctor, and she thinks he must have felt the same about her on many occasions.

But she wouldn't have him be any other way… and River Song always lives up to her promises. So she throws the TARDIS into flight, making the most noise she can turning to the monitor, trying to rouse him from his apathy. She even -with a mental apology, brushing her fingertips over the console and knowing that his old girl will understand- leaves on the handbrake as they take off.

And it works. He looks up finally, grief etched on every inch of his face.

“River. They were your parents. Sorry. I didn’t even think.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She says it calmly, as though it really _doesn’t_ matter; and she hopes that he’ll understand those two little words. Will think about them, will understand her obvious lack of grief, and what all that could mean.

“Of course it matters.” 

And she sighs, inwardly. Because he’s so young right now, so caught in his own loss. She can hardly blame him -she’d been the same way after all, when she’d found out- but she does rather wish she could shake him and tell him to be rational and _get that expression_ off his face. It’s the look Amy had spoken of. The sad, grieving, nothing-left-to-lose face that tears her up inside, and makes her wish that he could just understand the truth.

Because despite everything, the finality of Amy’s gesture earlier and fixed points being created and paradoxes, she knows that the Loss of the Ponds -as she’s sure he’s capitalising it in his head- isn’t really goodbye. Not for them, and not for many years to come.

It’s a change. The Ponds have left, but the Williams’ survive; and River isn’t sure that the Doctor wouldn’t love them just as much. She knows that she does… and one day, when his pain isn’t so immediate, she knows that she will succeed in persuading the Doctor to leave the TARDIS behind and take a trip with her relying only on her manipulator. 

Because here is the truth that she has always known: in the top floor apartment of a squat white building in 20th century New York City, overlooking Riverside Drive, live a doctor and his wife. They are staunchly British despite their surroundings, despite how long they’ve been there. He is known as a remarkably modern man in speech and attitude, with a long nose and wry smile; and she for her take charge attitude and cheerful bossiness, as much as for her long red hair. And they are beloved, very much beloved, by everyone whose lives they touch.

Dr Williams kisses his wife before going to work each day, saving lives at the hospital and being extra-ordinary in his ordinariness. And when Mrs Williams is alone in their fancy, grand apartment, she writes mystery novels. These books have turned A. J. Williams into an author whose works will live far beyond her time, and her feisty heroine Melody into legend; and they are full of suspense, of magical awful creatures and a dash of the improbable and the incredible and the just-plain-amazing.

They’ve got a grown-up daughter with wild curls and clothes in unfamiliar styles and colours, who drops in on them nearly every week. She greets them with hugs and smiles, bearing boxes of English tea and biscuits from a home far away; as well as curiosities from foreign times and lands that they laugh off to visitors, telling them that Mrs Williams uses those things for research. She shops and promenades the New York streets arm in arm with her mother; hikes up her skirts to play football with her dad in Central Park… and when they go home together, breathless and laughing, she regales them with stories of her unbelievable life, made all the more incredible by comparison to these stolen family moments in a time away from time.

And then, even after all that is one last truth that Mrs Williams has let it slip (then sighed and blushed with shame for releasing yet another spoiler): that every so often on Christmases and birthdays and Thursday luncheons of fish and chips and custard, they’ve been known to receive another visitor to their home. He arrives with their daughter -clinging tightly to her arm, grumbling under his breath about what her mode of transport does to his hair- and even though their curious New York neighbours might find him a bit odd as he fiddles with his bowtie, bouncing on his toes and beaming self-consciously before hugging them all… he is as adored and welcomed as their daughter, whenever he shows up.

River glances at the Doctor, wishing she could tell him in a way that he will understand; but truth will come to everyone in their own time, when they‘re ready to accept it. She already know what the next chapter will bring from her family… and she knows that today wasn’t goodbye, after all. 

Not for them.


End file.
